


There once was . . .

by Stephano_The_Swords_Women



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Asexuality, Child Abuse, Computers, Cyborg Child is non binary, Gen, No Incest, Spouse Abuse, Woman is asexual i just never got around to writing, also Father dies of his wounds, cyborg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:56:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephano_The_Swords_Women/pseuds/Stephano_The_Swords_Women
Summary: . . . a women





	There once was . . .

… a woman. Like any other woman she had a childhood, she had her favorite things, and her hated things. But unlike other women, she always felt that there was something, some _ one _ , out there waiting to be created.

And so when the woman was just a girl, a young thing of 7, she had a motivational speaker come to class talking about computers. The speaker wasn’t old nor were they young, they had a face she was certain, like anyone does, but she couldn’t quite remember what shape it was other then they had a big nose and equally big eyebrows.

They talked with there hands, which had calluses. When asked about it they laughed with their whole body and answered with a “well I use my hands a lot when I’m working with computers!”

This speaker didn’t know about how when they came and talked to this gym full of students, that they would change the life of one tiny slip of a 7-year-old girl.

But, whoever really knows when they change someone’s life?

* * *

The speaker talked, the listeners listened, a girl who had thoughts of creating was given the knowledge of tools that could help her.

And so at 7, going on 8, the girl knew what she wanted to do.

* * *

She went home, and she ate dinner that her mother cooked, and she talked about her day. About how she wanted to be a computer worker.

Her Father laughed and said secretaries are needed everywhere, and that he’s sure her husband will enjoy the extra money.

She doesn’t understand why this praise burns, why she wants to yell and cry, but when she’s older and she’s looking back. She understands, and she doesn’t forget.

* * *

Her mother is the one who sneaks her computer building books, helps her understand the big words and the age of 10. She’s a little more knowledgeable then she was at 7, but her wish to work with computers has grown even bigger.

Her mother, a sweet woman with burnt red hair and a body made of freckles, points the words out with gaunt fingers as she reads to the not as little but still tiny girl.

Her Father doesn’t bother to ask about her anything, and so she doesn’t bring it up.

Dinner is not as lively or as bright as  she thought it was it used to be. At 10 with a little more knowledge then 7, she can see a little tension from her mother.

She doesn’t understand but she wished she did.

* * *

She’s 12 now and her mother still brings her books, but now there harder and there not just about building. It’s there little ritual to read them at night with a little flashlight.

She doesn’t ask why they hide the books, or why they can only read them at night. She understands that Father wouldn’t approve.

_ She wished she asked _

She gets better and better with computers, she knows them intimately. She can build one and she can break one.

She works hard with the knowledge that some **_one_ ** thing is waiting to be built by her hands.

* * *

The warmth of her mother’s gaunt body as they cuddle under the covers reading books about hacking is what keeps her going when her classmates don’t understand her love for all things electrical.

She’s 16 and she’s more knowledgeable than any of her peers, she can hack like a pro, and make a computer like she’s been doing it since she was born. (The pieces sing to her, she doesn’t know if anyone else can hear the beautiful harmony of a completed computer but she hopes they can’t. It’s her thing.)

Her mother is paler than normal, body more gaunt then ever and she worries. She understands a little more than 12-year-old her. But she doesn’t understand enough.

Her Father still doesn’t care, but seems to be hinting at marriage. She remembers his words and hopes he burns.

* * *

She’s 17 and she understands.

Her mother lays down on the ground, her body pale, her hair frail.

The room is stained with her blood and the culprit stand before her in all his nasty glory.

She wonders how many bones will break if she hits him with a pan.

* * *

When the courts ask her she says she blacked out. She doesn’t remember.

Oh, she broke every bone in his legs? That’s too bad.

He’ll never be able to walk again? How sad.

She says she blacked out, but she remembers everything and she has never enjoyed something as much as she did breaking  _ him. _

It comes a close third. (The second being with her mother, reading and reading and reading under warm covers with the flashlight glowing. The first is listening to the computers whisper their secrets to her.)

* * *

She contemplates quitting. A few pills and everything would be over.

But she remembers her mothers brittle bones hugging her as they read in secrecy.

She remembers some  _ one _ thing waiting to be made, to be created, and she throws the pills out.

The same copy of a picture of her mother is in every computer books.

A reminder

And a thank you.

* * *

She’s 17 and she’s going to college, all A’s has made many campuses want her but she goes to the best with computer science. She graduates early with only the teaches to vaguely miss her.

She’s never kissed anyone, never dated, but she doesn’t mind so much with her little babies whispering the secrets of the world into her ear.

The keyboard sings a symphony of clicks and clacks as her fingers take her through walls. She wants to know everything.

She only goes so far, the whispers in her ear telling her when to stop. Her computers now her as well as she knows them.

She searches where they nudge her, a feeling whispering,  **_look look this right here yes yesyesyes_ **

She looks.

* * *

She’s 19 and she has a doctorate in Computer science and another in psychology.

Many want her but instead, she builds a garage, and she fixes computers.

What a waste, they say.

No, she thinks, I’m just waiting.

Every computer whispers there hello’s, and she lovingly puts them back into working order.

She’s building something amazing, but no one knows and she wants it to stay that way.

* * *

She doesn’t get all her money from fixing computers and phones, not with all this information at her fingers, she does the next thing.

She sells it.

* * *

Many people want her expertise, her hacking skills are better then everyone’s and no one even knows her gender.

She, of course, does research before selling her info, and sometimes she ruins those asking for something.

She was unsympathetic but not heartless.

* * *

She a woman now, still tiny but not as small.

She’s finally done building her greatest masterpiece at the age 22, and she can’t wait for them to open their eyes.

Laying on a bed like table, the machine comes alive.

* * *

“Who am I?”

“Whoever you want to be”

“… who, are you?”

“I’m the person who helped you into this world.”

“You are my…mother?”

“If that is what you want me to be, I see nothing wrong with it.”

“…”

“I connected you to the internet so that you could look up anything you want. But, be warned, not everything you read is true and not everything can be explained. Come to me first if you have questions please, and I will answer as best as I can.”

“Mother…”

“Let me show you around, son.”

* * *

They are magnificent. Her best creation. She now knew what her mother must have felt like looking at her.

They’re innocent, in a newly alive way, gullible, truthful, and she loves them.

She teaches them everything she can think of, and anything they can think of.

They work in a computer repair shop with her son( _sometimes_ _daughter_ ), and she couldn’t be happier.

* * *

“Mother…”

“Yes, my love?”

“What is… happiness?”

“Hmm, happiness… it’s when someone does something for you and asks for nothing back. It’s warm hugs and reading books with someone you love, it’s cooking someone’s favorite food, it’s looking at the clouds and smiling, it’s holding hands and butterfly kisses. Why do you ask, my son?”

“I am a … a robot, would this mean, I can’t fee-“

“You may be different but that does not mean you can’t feel something, it just means you feel it differently than others. To me, that is what happiness is, to you it may be something else. It’s not something you can compare, it’s something to cherish.”

“Mother… being like this… I think makes me happy”

“Good, you make me happy to my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> i really enjoyed writing this, i love it!!!
> 
> stephano-the-swords-woman.tumblr.com


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